Green Leaves
by The-Last-Flower
Summary: Satyr Loki must teach Thor, the fallen and outcast prince of Asgard how to be a worthy son and a future king. ...AU...Also On AO3...


**Author's Note: **Hello well I got this idea from** under-base** Satyr Loki prompt. And I would recommend looking at under-base's tumblr its amazing. Also this story is on AO3** /works/684102/chapters/1255351** and it would be better to read there because I drew illustrations for it! And they are posted on AO3 only. Anyway will post the next few chapters soon hopefully.

…

**Green Leaves**

…

Gently I tossed a log into the hearth, watching as embers so close to death found new life, their heated bodies taking in deep breaths, gasps in the color of gold and orange, birthing flames with new found goals and sharp furious burning claws.

Fire licked up the side of the log, and the dry wood screamed and hissed for unoffered mercy.

Smoke tickled my nose, and I sighed at the soft heat the fire offered, lightly, the kiss of a butterfly's wings against my cheeks, my eyes fluttered close. I let myself momentarily melt into the warmth, the heavy scent of charred wood, and the slow red dance of flames beneath the blackness of my eyelids.

Yet the promise of peace was always short lived for thunder roared across the sky shattering any hope silence. Rain soon followed, singing and chiming as it collided and slide across the roof.

I stood, closing the window's shutters, as lightening cut the sky open, with the quick speed of a sharp knife.

The night's weather would not be kind, and what a shame for the day's sun had been so fine.

…

It started like the song of war, slowly growing in anxious rhythm and speed, beating and beating like a drum within the fragile framing of my skull.

I awoke with a jolt, breath catching like a thread within my lungs.

Furiously I blinked away the sleep that still plagued my eyes and weighted my lids, slowly coming to the realization that the pounding cacophony was not the remnant of a dream but an object of reality.

I knelt, long pale fingers rubbing awareness into muscles and bones, coaxing movement into a tired body. I kicked, hooves catching blankets, and untangling the cocoon of them from my limbs.

Rising from the bed, I glanced upwards, night light filtered through the window's shutters in droplets of purple and black ink

The night was at its peak, the hour late, a strange time for someone to knock upon my door.

But that was not the greatest oddity, the utmost abnormality lay in the fact that a person had manage to find my home, hidden deep in the forest's womb.

Only a few steps were required, to cross the width of my small abode, and therefore I reached the door in one wide stride, and gripped the door handle swiftly, wanting nothing more than to end the pestering annoyance of the other's knock. Wanting nothing more than to return to my secluded silence and serene sleep.

With much anticipation I drew the door open a mere slit, the night's wind finished my work with its eager curious hands, flinging the door wide open. The cold spring air dampened with rain kissed my skin, painting cheeks pink with the chill of it and erasing any remnants of sleep from my body.

It was then I met the eyes of my unwanted visitor, a soft sorrow filled blue that quickly swam with momentary relief upon meeting mine. His blonde hair lay plastered against the square harsh contours of his jaw, his nose deeply reddened with cruel bite of frost, and his tunic sodden and long past wet, stuck to the hard plane of his chest like a second skin. Rain ran rivulets down his closed eyes and the cords of his neck, pooling at the bones of his collar.

And it did not take someone with wit or studied knowledge to realize he had weathered this rain for far too long.

Suddenly he shuddered softly—the peculiar whispers of it traveling up his spine—and for a moment I thought he may die.

Yet I suppose such simplicity or luck was not on my side, for he tipped forward, toes losing their footing as he fainted.

And the fool that I was, made move to catch him, his heavy muscled weight sending us both crashing to the floor.

I grunted in pain, at the growing bruise on my bottom and the ache at my tail's base.

Unconscious he breathed shakily with exhaustion—the sound of a stone rattling between the curve of his ribs.

I let out a sigh of exasperation, as I attempted to squirm from beneath him.

It seemed I would not be returning to my bed this night.

…

It was a struggle—my muscles screaming with protest and my shoulders giving a muted pop—but somehow I managed to drag him to my bed, curses flying from my thin lips all the while.

I pulled at his tunic and trousers, fighting his dead weight and stiff limbs, wishing I was cruel enough to forgo such an act and leave him to suffer from chill and fever in his soaked clothes.

Careful and ever mindful, I covered his large frame with a layer of furs, watching as his furrowed brows relaxed and his breathing slowed to the sea's soft lull.

The hearth velvet glow cast the stranger in gold, bestowing him the grand mask of a fallen god.

And perhaps he was, for as I hung his clothes by the hearth to dry—the fabric sighing against my skin and the fine quality of thread smoothly sliding between my finger's tips—I noticed the embroidery at his tunic's collar.

Gold runes, Asgardian runes, the markings of Odin's family line, stitched with a delicate patient hand.

…

I lay my head against windowsill and watched as the sun rose, slowly greeting the land's horizon, hesitant and weary at first, before growing with sureness and gracing the sky with her bright presence. The hands of day worked cleverly, painting over the stars and the blackness of night with a brush of amber, pink, and blue.

Birds rejoiced at the coming of morning and the end of the night's storm, singing their song of thanks as they flew, feathered wings slicing the air.

The wind rushed past, rustling the inky black locks of hair at my nape and smelling sweetly of the season to come and faintly of the season passed.

'Where in Hel am I?'

Came a groan from behind me.

Surely he must have been sent here to shatter my every chance of serenity, for if that was his purpose, he was succeeding.

I turned, to see him sitting up in bed, to see his thick blonde brows crease with puzzlement—giving him the look of a confused lion—as his gaze took in my form. Sapphire eyes slowly traveled upwards, over hooved feet, and legs covered thickly with brown fur, to the line where fur and skin met at my navel. His gaze traveled upwards yet, to my temples and the horns that sprouted there, curving backwards against the sides of my skull.

Finally he spoke, deep voice laced with bafflement,

'You are half goat?'

How expected, he was a fool.

'Satyr, is the correct term.'

I told him and perhaps it was my years of tutoring that allowed me to tolerate his ignorance.

I turned again, giving him my back as I walked to the hearth, and the kettle that hung above it, ladling tea into a small cup, green buoyant leaves floating on the surface.

Returning to his side I sat, the cup cradled within my palms held out in offering.

'Drink, it will help prevent fever.'

He eyed me with suspicion.

Exhaling I spoke,

'It is not poisoned.'

I brought the cup to my lips, eyes lowered with pleasure as I took a small sip. The drink hot and pleasant as it ran down my throat, bitter and saccharine as it settled within my stomach, tasting clean, and of summer and outdoors, the tea's herbs numbing my tongue's tip.

'If I was planning to kill you I would have left you in the rain last night. Now drink.'

I said, giving him a crooked grin.

And this time he took the offered cup, his nose only crinkling slightly with displeasure at the taste.

…

'What is your name?'

He asked when finished, coughing slightly as he set the cup to his side.

'Loki. My name is Loki. Thor Odinson, prince of Asgard.'

The shock that widened his eyes and spread across his face was highly amusing and helped lessen the annoyance of yesterday's troubles.

'How do you know this? Did my father send you to watch over me? Does he truly think me a boy in need of a nanny?'

His fingers clenched, knuckles fading white with suppressed rage.

Laughter bubbled in my chest like a spring stream.

'Calm yourself. I know not your father, besides of what I heard and read. It was only a matter of putting the pieces together, the embroidery on your tunic, your age, the only possibility is you are in fact Thor, Odin's son.'

'I am.'

'Well then Odinson, answer me this. What is an Asgardian prince doing on the simple planes of Midgard?'

…

He did have a prince's voice, well phrased gravel that commanded every attention, and when he spoke I listened, fully enveloped by each reverberation, the way every word reached the marrow of my bones.

It was a simple story he told, the grief he felt evident with each jagged pause he took.

…

'A few Jotuns attacked Asgard's walls. My father refused to act, preferring the company of his cowardice. And what was I to do, let the whole of the nine realms think us a weak kingdom? I was to be king one day, and so I took action into my owns hands, I readied myself to invade Jotunheim but my father caught me before I had any chance to defend Asgard's honor. He called me foolish—a weak and unworthy boy for daring to endanger my people—and he took from me my powers. He cast me out—onto Midgard's lowly soil—telling me I could not return home until I was truly the man I believed myself to be.'

He met my eyes only once during his telling, the depths so earnest, I wanted terribly to look away, but I forced my eyes to stay with his.

'Your home was the first I came across after hours of walking.'

…

'Well,'

I began as his voice faded to quiet, testing the weight and workings of my tongue, running it over the tip of sharp teeth as I searched for the correct words within the depths of my mind and mouth.

'Your father is right in his course of action.'

He twitched, the slight trembling of muscle beneath his skin, yet he gave no other action, no other sign of his fury, no angered cry, or raised fist.

Despite the lack of visible response, ire and anguish hung around him like a thick mist, palatable as I breathed settling heavily within my lungs, making my chest feel all too thin and tight, as if it would collapse in upon itself at any moment.

And seeing he gave no sign of speaking, I spoke again,

'Your actions were foolish and it is easy to see in your heart you believed them true, but your father is no coward. His waiting to act was not a sign of weakness but one of great diplomacy. Asgard's treaty with Jotunheim is a fragile thing, a thread waiting to be broken, and while a group of foolish rogue Jotuns does not represent the whole of Jotunheim, the prince of Asgard is in a way Asgard itself. What you had planned to do could have broken everything your father struggled to build.'

He pawed his face in frustration, thick finger rubbing the crease between his brows.

'You are very wise.'

He murmured, mind seemingly lost in thought, and I could almost hear the turn and twist the paths of his concentration took.

'Yes, well—'

Any further words were cut short by his next action, he gripped tightly my hands between his, his hold bruising with excitement.

'Then you can teach me, to be so knowledgeable, to be a worthy king as my father wishes?!'

I swallowed slowly, making the mistake of meeting his eyes, blue and tender, filled with the pleading implore of a child.

I knew I should say no,

For what had my years of teaching taught me?

What truth had shown themselves within my time upon these realms?

That in the end we are all selfish creatures.

In the end we are always alone.

And it must have been that overwhelming sense of loneliness, the drowning need for companionship no matter how short, and the small swell of pity within the my heart that urged me to mutter—regret already forming a cage within my chest.

'Yes, I can.'

…

'When do we start training?'

He asked, as he finished dressing tanned fingers tucking his tunic into the waist of his trousers.

'Patience my dear Thor is a desired trait in a king.'

I joked, swirling my cloak around thin shoulders, and pulling the red hood up to hide my horns and ebony hair.

'Now come, prince, if you are to stay and train with me, then we must purchase you furs to sleep upon and clothes to wear.'

…

Summer pulsed beneath the land, waiting for its loved turn in the change of seasons, and summer's time was coming very soon.

The signs were evident and everywhere.

Green grass spread across the meadow where once dried tan stalk lay in its place, and even a few wary flowers dared the chance of an early growth.

Leaves and red buds sprouted at the tips of tree's branches and the sun shone in a blue cloudless sky.

Thor pressed down a booted foot on a small patch of moss, watching as moisture rose pooling at his toes.

'How much longer until we reach the market?'

'Another hour or so—'

I paused, frowning, his eye were filled with stricken defeat, the skin bellow them smudge with exhaustion, and his shoulders slumped the growing signs of weariness beginning to weigh down upon him.

I sighed, hating the sympathetic section of my soul.

'Let us break.'

…

I slumped against a large stone, dropping the bags that hung from my shoulder onto the grass.

I stretched out my legs, kneading the tense muscles of my thighs through a thick downy layer of fur, watching with lidded eyes as Thor followed suit, sitting at my side.

'Here.'

I said reaching into a bag and with quick and thin fingers I tossed him a chunk of bread, cheese, and a skin of water, smiling slightly as his face alit with pleasure.

He ate his meal swiftly with the impression of a man starved, his throat bobbing and the cords of his neck working as he drank water and wet his dried tongue.

Slowly I ate, taking the skin from him when finished and drinking what was left.

'A few more minutes of rest, then we must get on.'

I hummed, lying back, my spine giving a few welcoming pops.

Thor let out a grunt of approval, leaning forward to work at the lacing of his boots seeking to give his abused feet a moment of alleviation.

I turned, to study the arch of his back the subtle curve of a bow, the way the sun inched across him leaving a trail of soft yellow and the way tree branches cast veined shadows across his tanned skin.

Shade and light danced across him, changing, moving, and shifting with the spring's soft wind, threatening to envelop and swallow him whole.

'What is it?'

He inquired, loosely braided hair hanging over his shoulder.

I breathed,

'It is nothing.'

…

The market was a bustling hive of activity, people buzzing and hustling around like a swarm of bees.

'Stay close to me, I will not search for you if you get lost.'

He huffed through his nose with annoyance,

'We do have markets such as this in Asgard, and I have been to them Loki, I am not the ignorant boy you think me.'

I laughed, the noise an unheard whisper in the commotion around.

'Yes, we will see.'

The sleeve of his tunic held the warmth of his body, heating the chilled tip of my fingers as I reached out to guide him through the waves of the crowd.

'Then Odinson let us see if you hold the grand skill of negotiation every king needs.'

…

In the end he proved more skilled and adequate than I thought.

Using his blinding smile and—shocking—wit he managed to convince a market stall owner to trade my pouches of medicinal herbs and rabbit pelts for four simple tunics and four trousers, two wolf pelts, and one small coverlet.

'I am surprised, Thor, you did well.'

I told him as we walked home.

Laughter left his chest in a bellow of thunder, his arms and back pilled full with the day's trades, and he carried them with great pride like a hunter sporting his kill.

And he spoke, words echoing between the indigo trees and sending birds scattering into the evening purple sky.

And I halted my steps, feeling the chain of doubt twine around me.

'You will make a king of me yet, Loki.'

…


End file.
